


You Have My Word

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by pandasintheimpala on Tumblr: maybe a disney themed da 2 fic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Have My Word

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pandasinthetardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandasinthetardis/gifts).



> Imagine a Hawke who lost not only one sibling, but her whole family in the journey to Gwaren; who did not have the fortune of meeting Flemeth until far too late; who arrived in Kirkwall steeling herself to take back whatever was hers, at whatever cost—the most extreme of aggro!Hawkes…and then read on.
> 
> There might be more to this. Eventually.

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young noble called the Champion lived in a stony estate. Although she had enough material wealth to buy anything her heart desired, the Champion was aloof and unkind. She had long since lost those dearest to her, and her heart had become withered and black with grief.

One winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the estate and offered the Champion a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance and lacking the patience for human company, the Champion sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away.

She warned the Champion not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. When the Champion dismissed her again, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a terrifying dragon.

The Champion tried to apologize, but it was too late, for the dragon had seen that there was no love in her heart. As punishment, she transformed the Champion into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the estate and all who lived there.

Ashamed of her monstrous form, the beast concealed herself inside her castle, with a magic mirror as her only window to the outside world. The rose the dragon had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until her thirtieth year. If she could learn to love another, and earn that love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, she would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

As the years passed, she fell into despair, and lost all hope—for who could ever learn to love a beast?

*

The Hawke Estate was massive, imposing, monstrous—totally overgrown with ivy—but according to everything he knew about tracking, that was where Fenris had to go.

This was the only estate in Kirkwall that existed well apart from Hightown—well apart from the city, even, abutting the mountains nearby. It made sense, then, that this was where Isabela had run into trouble. “Routine shipment, indeed,” Fenris muttered under his breath, shifting from foot to foot. Even the sword on his back did not put him at ease here. He knew something of haunted estates.

The gate swung open at his barest touch. It would be polite to announce himself, but in case Isabela was in real danger, he didn’t dare call out. When the large oak door—itself overgrown with ivy—swung open, too, he resolved to step carefully.

He heard no sound at all in the cavernous estate—maybe the skittering of mice, but that could just as easily be the wind, crueller than usual in the midst of winter. The lush velvet rug, long worn, felt dusty beneath his feet, and the hollow where a fire would have been was dark. A cursory sniff alerted him that it had burned recently. He listened, and chose the stairway to the left, creeping upward.

The skittering again. He glanced over his shoulder, but saw nothing. In the dark of the estate, the always-glowing lyrium of his tattoos would give him away to an attacker; he pressed close to the shadows, keeping his breathing even. Hopefully, he would hear them before they got too close.

A hasty breath sounded inside one of the rooms ahead. He bounded toward it, hoping he had recognized it correctly, wrenched open the door—

She was puddled on the ground inside a cage. Fenris’s tattoos glowed up in his fury; she opened her eyes at the light, a glimmer of rage sparking in their depths, but her expression softened when she saw him. “Fenris,” she breathed in relief, reaching through the bars. “Took you long enough.”

He took her hand and squeezed, hard. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

She coughed. “Ill, maybe. That damn creature kept me up here for days, and it’s bloody cold.”

"What creature?" he pressed, crouching down.

"You didn’t see it?" she asked, the first flicker of unease crossing her features. "You didn’t  _kill it_? Oh, Maker—”

There was a growl, in the shadows, behind him. He stiffened, spine prickling, but didn’t look. “You can’t hold us,” he said confidently, and broke through the lock on that prison, letting the door swing open. Isabela scrambled out, closer to him. “Let us be on our way, and we won’t trouble you any further.”

"I think not." The voice, to his surprise, was feminine; when he turned, the shape of the speaker moved just slightly, hidden in the shadows.

"Who’s there?" Fenris demanded, keeping a tight hold on Isabela’s hand.

"The mistress of this estate," the voice replied, and the shape shifted again.

"I’ve come for my friend," he said, when the speaker seemed unlikely to go on. "She’s ill. I apologize if she trespassed upon you unnecessarily, and am willing to make reparations, if you let us leave without harm."

"There is nothing you can do," the voice said, stiff with finality. "She is my prisoner."

"Are you so unreasonable?" Fenris asked, exasperated. "She could die. Surely you aren’t a murderer."

The voice chuckled. “Surely we all know better than to think none of us in this room are murderers.” There was a pause, pregnant with consideration. “Remain in her place,” the voice said at last, “and I shall let her go.”

Isabela’s fingers tightened on his. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed.

He shrugged her off. “Of the two of us,” he replied, “I am currently better equipped to handle these cruel conditions. Fine,” he directed at that patch of shadow. “Come into the light, and we shall seal this arrangement.”

The thing that came forward—though it had indeed sounded human—no longer looked it. Her thick black mane gave her a lionish look, but the clawed feet seemed more reminiscent of a bird—perhaps a hawk. Her blue eyes were sharp, luminous, and they looked at him as though daring him to speak ill of her.

He sheathed his sword. “You have my word,” he said.

"Done!" she agreed, almost before he had finished speaking. "Take her away."

"No," Isabela snapped, even as a claw-footed carriage scrambled impossibly up the stairs behind the beast and made a beeline toward her. "No, I can’t let you do this—"

But she had already been swallowed up by the maw of the carriage; Fenris tried to close his ears to the sound of her cries as they descended, down the stairs and away, to safety.

Though he loathed to do it, he unstrapped the sword from his back and laid it down, between him and the beast.

"Well," he said, when she seemed unlikely to speak again. "I suppose I should make myself comfortable."


End file.
